


Dark Waters and the Wounded Coast

by queengabby



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Children, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, I literally didn't mean to make this smut but here we are folks, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Pre-Dragon Age: Trespasser DLC, Sexual Content, implied PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-23
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-05-03 02:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5273903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queengabby/pseuds/queengabby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Hawke heals from her time in the Fade, she remembers home. It is not that she does not know how to swim, but that she needs a little help being brought back to shore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dark Waters and the Wounded Coast

**Author's Note:**

> **a few disclaimers here:**  
>  this story takes place post-game, and implies that Hawke was sacrificed in the Fade, but was later saved by Fenris & the Inquisition. it is before the events of the Trespasser DLC.
> 
> Lottie is Fenris and Hawke's daughter, she is about 6 years old. Her real name is Charlotte. (and yes, she has sibings). She is also featured in 'Long & Lost' which is a prequel to this, and is currently on hiatus.
> 
> if you are confused by my inquisitors, it is because I actually have three of them (which I call the Triumvirate). Inquisitor Lavellan and Inquisitor Cadash are featured in this fic, but I decided to leave out Inquisitor Trevelyan for the sake of coherency. it was getting too messy.
> 
> I will probably update this story with minor grammar fixes and such, since I wanted to get it all down and out of my system. 
> 
> Enjoy!

It is the colder months that are the hardest.

Hawke finds herself spending more and more time in front of the fireplace of her makeshift bedroom at Skyhold. She is sitting sideways in the chairs of the library that resemble thrones, meant for straighter shoulders, embellished robes, and legs crossed at the ankles. She accomplishes none of those things, rather she is slumped with her back against the armrest and her wool sock half off her splint, the other foot dressed in a sock with holes mended six times over.

Sometimes she dozes off, having watched the frost in the window glass peel back as the sunlight fell across the floor. A book about lyrium addiction is balanced on one of her knees. She cannot do much but wait, since she is healing from her more severe injuries caused by her fight with the Nightmare, and all her companions refuse to let her strain herself.

Hawke is momentarily lost in her own thoughts. She tries to recall the fight, but she does not have a good memory. She never did, admittedly.

Sometimes she remembers things entirely wrong, mixing up the chronology of events that lead to the present moment. Like standing at the cracked edge of the Fade, peering down at the abyss where monsters have been countlessly swallowed up –

Was that before, or after her nose was broken?

Hawke blinks, remembering where she is. The quiet of the room bothers her now, and so she lifts her book to close it, returning it to the bookshelf. As she stands and reaches for her crutch, she wanders nearer to balance her weight against the wall. The fingers of her left hand brush the bridge of her nose, just to make sure, and then they trace the backs of each book along the bookcase.

Perhaps she had imagined the lines of the elvhen Inquisitor’s vallaslin wrong, and in fact the wisping ends of his markings did not trail upward, but downward on his cheekbones. She traces her fingers further up, to another level of the bookshelf, attempting to visualize his image with her hands.

Perhaps the relief on Warden Alistair’s face when she turned to him was imagined. When she volunteered herself, and the twist of grief that followed had been her mind playing tricks on her. She remembers the precise penmanship of the Hero of Fereldan before they entered the Fade, her kindness barely overshadowing the threat underneath her words. A Paragon would not lose her lover to this. Not now.

Hawke finds the memory bleeding, as she did, when the great nightmare fell and she was alone in the Fade, her left leg broken. She could not move.

Hawke presses one of her hands to the bookshelf, the other on the crutch, and catches her breath, reminding herself of her own safety. Somehow, she feels compelled to scream; to cloud the silence with her breath – nothing comes. After all these months, she still feels unbelievably trapped, as if her wings have been clipped. As if the shrinking rift in the sky only made the shadow at her back heavier. The weight of it -

The wood snaps pleasantly in the fireplace, though it is too familiar to the crack of bone. Coals shift as twigs break in the hearth, and sparks dance near the flame like stars.

She is interrupted, however, by the sound of a brief knock at the door.

“Come in,” she barely manages to suppress the emotion that threatens to overwhelm her. The guest opens the door without much ceremony, and Hawke feels her bones relax, somewhat.

“Well, well. I thought you were going to be gone for the rest of the afternoon.” She says to the elf with ashen-colored hair. He looks at her with a gaze only meant for these private moments, but as he notices she is standing, he frowns with displeasure. 

“You should not be on your feet.” Fenris replies, not bothering with preamble, and busying himself with unclipping his cloak from his shoulders instead.

“Believe it or not, I was returning a book.” She tells him, because it is true. Whether or not he is convinced is another matter. He steps further into the middle of the room, and drapes his cloak over the back of an armchair. He removes his breastplate with three clicks and sets it down by the fireplace. He does not miss the way she watches him move about the room, though he just lets out a sigh under his breath, ignoring her smile.

"Enjoying yourself?" he asks, and she just smiles back. 

"I'm enjoying your display of domesticity." Hawke replies easily, and turns herself to face him.

“Here, come sit down.” Fenris says, his eyes more relaxed than before, and Hawke sighs dramatically before conceding.

“You sit first.” She replies, and he looks at her for a long moment before understanding, finally agreeing to her request. Hawke shuffles closer to him, careful not to stub his foot with her crutch. When she is near enough, he takes her waist and crutch at the same time, helping her into his lap. He leans forward to lay her crutch down on the floor and then his hands return to her waist. She readjusts herself until she is comfortable while Fenris tugs at her tangled sock.

“I am told you will be able to remove your splint tomorrow.” Fenris says, not looking at her, but at her injury. She swings her uninjured leg back and forth where it lays along the armrest. He worries for her, even now.

“Doctor’s orders?” she asks, good-naturedly and he finally looks up at her.

“Yes. The dwarf inquisitor – the medic – said so.” the concern is etched in his brow, but he returns his gaze to her leg, resting a hand on her knee. He hesitates before he speaks, a hint of a smile playing on his mouth. "She is aware of your...eagerness, and has taken it into consideration."

“Ah, Inquisitor Cadash.” She clarifies the name for him, returning his smile, and he nods once, not needing to repeat it. "I was hoping I was making it obvious enough. I hate sitting around -- you know that." She wants to ask him if he knows of the dwarven inquisitor and Varric but – she cannot seem to find the words to say it. So she leans into him, and he grips her hip a bit harder in return, his lips brushing along her neck. Perhaps another time.

“Did you go anywhere interesting?” Hawke asked instead, eager to hear of travels, of anything, really.

He lifts his head and quirks a brow at her, but her gaze does not waver. “I accompanied two of the inquisitors to…Adamant.” She can see that Fenris is uncertain if he wants to continue, “Bull’s chargers wanted to examine the damage done to the fortress in case it could be salvaged.”

His words do something interesting. It is not his fault, and Hawke wants to reassure him as she catches sight of his concern.

but Hawke feels the images of the Fade ripple at her feet, waves crashing in her mind, the world blurring at the edges –

“Hawke.” Fenris says, pulling her back. But it is late, and she – she is in that moment again and she is -

 _“Hawke,_ ” he repeats, with more force, and it seems to reach her. She touches his cheek, and he urges her to look at him, bringing her back to him. Fenris’ eyes are filled with panic, but seems to ease as Hawke tries to focus on his face – on the touch of his skin.

“I’m sorry.” She says because she is. He is shaking his head, and _oh_ but she is worrying him. Hawke relaxes in his touch, wrapping her arms around his neck and brushing her nose along his neck. The tang of lyrium a reminder of his solidity next to her. She closes her eyes.

“You are safe.” She hears him murmur, and he holds her tighter against him. Hawke wants this moment to last longer, she wants Fenris to grip her shoulders until she can manage to pick up the pieces of herself again. But he relaxes in his hold, setting his forehead against hers. Fenris breathes for Hawke first, and she does the same, the air between them helps her regain some of what she has lost.

The memory is forgotten, again, but she remembers how it felt to be washed away in the sea.

She lets out a short laugh that sounds like a sigh. “You’d think I’d be able to deal with this better, considering all the other ridiculous situations I’ve gotten myself into.” Hawke tries for a joke. She knows it is terrible, but –

She can see a hint of a smile play on his lips, and it is enough to have her heart fluttering. “I’d prefer it if you stopped trying to outdo your own misery.” He replies, and then glances up at her, and by the Maker, _she missed him._ Hawke spent months apart from him before this, and they’ve been reunited for months afterward, but it always delights her to realize how full her heart feels when he looks at her.  

“I’ve always loved a challenge.” She can’t help but retort, and bites her lip again, shyly this time. Fenris does not pull back – and does not hesitate when she leans in, slanting her mouth against his. She ruts against him once, and he sighs.

"Hawke," he begins to say. A huff of air escapes his nose, and he claims her mouth with a growl, one hand on her back and the other at her hip.

“Wait –” she pulls back suddenly, after her mouth is swollen from kisses. His gaze is so hot on her skin that she must press a cool hand to her own cheek. Her condition only worsens when he smirks at her. She curses at him under her breath when it becomes evident that he wants to encourage it. “Where’s Lottie?”

“She is with Varric.” Fenris suppresses a chuckle.

“Did she ask for me?”

“She knows you are tired. She is eager to see you once you get some rest, however.”

“Has she eaten yet? Today, I mean?”

“Yes, Hawke.” He says, a smile on his lips. His thumb plays along her hip.

“Okay,” Hawke sighs, and they sit in silence before she glances back at him. She watches the smile spread on his features, though it is a relaxed thing. The moment stretches on, and she grins – then laughs.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your seducing, I still want to be thoroughly – mm” she is interrupted when his mouth is on hers again, both of them smiling through the kiss.

“I was not sure if you –” he offers, and then kisses her again. “Wanted to continue.”

“Always.” She says when his mouth is at her neck, and he does not hesitate in lifting her from the chair, bringing her over to their temporary bed, in their temporary room.

Hawke, herself, was not wearing any armor before Fenris came in the room, dressed in simple breeches and a thin shirt. Fenris had already managed to take off the more complicated pieces of his wardrobe before they sat down in the chair, and so they were both pleasantly naked in record time. Isabela would be proud, which Hawke announced to him in between gasps. He only chuckled darkly.

Fenris was achingly gentle to her, lightly parting her legs and brushing his hand up her thigh with touches that left her wanting. He kisses the corner of her mouth, his eyelashes brushing her cheek as he moved his mouth to her jaw.

“You tempt me far too easily.” Hawke murmurs as he leans on an elbow, his fingers tracing along her abdomen and back down to the front of her legs.

“Perhaps.” He allows, but then kisses her once, hard, and then crawls to lie between her legs. “Though I am making no objections to your willingness.”

“You enjoy it.” Hawke says with realization in her voice, and then glances down to see him looking back up at her.

“Always.” He purrs. Fenris _purrs._ And then his mouth, warm and wet, and so gentle, is pressed to her heat.

Hawke lets out a whimper, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth, the other shakes before it brushes Fenris’ hair. She objects when he lifts to tie his hair up better away from his face, and only smiles at her frustration. He licks his mouth, and she almost cries.

“Am I interrupting you?” Fenris asks pleasantly, brushing his hair up into a small bun.

“You bastard – you – ah!” she shudders when he brushes a finger down her heat. Hawke is almost embarrassed when she realizes how wet she is, but it only seems to make Fenris’ eyes go darker. He glances up at her, hot and wanting, and then without preamble, his mouth returns to where she wants it most. Fenris allows her to guide him with her unsteady breaths, her gasps, and her whines. His finger presses into her and she moves her hips to meet him. The pressure is hard, and unrelenting, and when he tilts his head to suck gently, Hawke can do nothing but quake in pleasure, clamping down on his fingers, Fenris loyally bringing her to release. She can barely hear over the ringing in her ears, but she swears she hears him say her name.

She lets out a long breath, as Fenris brushes her hair away from her forehead. “Come here.” She orders, but loses some of the emphasis from how breathless she is when he removes his fingers.

Hawke tugs Fenris up to kiss him again, her hand going between them momentarily. “Hawke –” he chokes out when she grinds up into his hips.

“Fenris, please –” she gasps when she feels him, so _close to where she needs him._ He shivers, and then Hawke gathers her strength, and _rolls._

Fenris is stunned for a moment, having let out a few choice curse words before glancing at her from where she is above him now. She smiles down at him. “I might as well take the splint off now.”

His eyes are hazy, and it takes him a moment before they widen – only a fraction – with realization. He is too full of lust to reply, and he simply swallows.

“Now?”

“Oh, no _. Later._ There are more pressing matters to attend to.” Hawke smiles widely, breathless, and she hears him let out an equally breathless laugh before she takes him in her hands. Fenris groans, closing his eyes.

“Let me,” she says pleasantly, as if her heat _isn’t_ barely brushing the tip of him, as if she _cannot_ hear Fenris groan with want beneath her.

“You tempt me far too easily.” Fenris repeats Hawke’s own words back to her, and it makes her heart swell. She kisses him, opens her mouth to him and lowers herself inch by inch.

Oh but he is beautiful like this, beneath her. Fenris opens his eyes when she is seated on him, and he kisses her collarbone, his hands cupping her breasts. They wait like this, trying to catch their breaths, and then Hawke kisses him, lifting herself up, and then lowering herself again. He cannot manage to kiss her, his mouth open and hot, swearing in Arcanum.

Fenris’ hands come down to grip her hips, and then Hawke begins a slow pace, relaxed. He holds her close, with such adoration that it makes her heart ache behind her ribs.

“I love you.” She says, and Fenris brings his hands up to cup her face, kissing her with all the reverence in the world. His lips brush against hers as he speaks.

“I am yours, Hawke.” He murmurs, and then his breath hitches when she rides him hard and fast, managing to groan her name another time before she clenches around him, and he is lost to the hot pressure built up in the pit of his stomach.

After they are both spent, Hawke manages to get up and off him, laying down flat on her stomach, her arm stretched over Fenris’ chest. His eyes are closed, but he turns toward her, his mouth resting on her forehead.

“I’m glad we managed that without breaking my leg, again.” Hawke jokes. Fenris cannot help but laugh.

* * *

Hawke is standing with Lottie and Fenris near the entrance to Skyhold when the elven Inquisitor, Kipling, goes to say his farewells. Dorian is already there, watching over Lottie as the young girl chats away. Fenris loads the horse with gear in silence, though Hawke catches him quirk a smile when Dorian makes Lottie laugh.

Hawke turns towards Inquisitor Lavellan, “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality. Without Inquisitor Cadash, I fear I would have two broken legs instead of one.” Hawke jokes, and he, in turn, gives her a gentle smile.

“It’s no trouble. After what happened…” Kipling paused, glancing over at Dorian and then back to her, “I fear you must think the worst of me.”

Hawke touches his shoulder, squeezing it. “None of our jobs are easy, Inquisitor Lavellan.”

“Uncle Varric!” Lottie called from atop the horse, as Fenris tightened the straps on their gear. He paused, and then with a moment’s hesitation, gave Dorian a slight nod to let Lottie down from the horse. As soon as Lottie’s feet touched the grass, she ran over to Varric. Fenris scoffed when he caught _both_ Hawke and Dorian looking at each other, equally pleased as mabari pups.

Varric ruffled Lottie’s hair, and allowed the child to take his hand with her own. “Are you coming to Kirkwall, too, Uncle Varric?”

“Of course I am, Mouse.” Varric cleared his throat. “And so is my friend, here.” He gestured to Inquisitor Cadash, who was carrying a practical amount of gear on her back. She rested a hand on her hip as Inquisitor Lavellan gave her a look. It was evident that it had been discussed beforehand, though Lavellan still seemed hesitant.

“You’ll be fine without me, don’t you worry your pretty little head, Kip.” Inquisitor Cadash said, and he nodded in response. Hawke, however, was struggling to hold back a delightful smile.

“That is quite…neighborly of you, Varric.” Hawke could not hope to hide the laugh that escaped when she spied Fenris’ expression. Realization hit him, and then Fenris bit the inside of his cheek to hide a smirk, beckoning Lottie over to put her back up on the saddle of the horse.

 “He insisted, he all but got down on his knees.” Inquisitor Cadash said, and Varric shot her a look that had the dwarf Inquisitor’s eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Shall we be going?” Fenris asked, and Hawke waggled her eyebrows at Varric.

“Oh, _yes_ we shall!” she said, and quickly avoided a swipe from her dwarven friend with a laugh.

Perhaps Inquisitor Lavellan regretted sacrificing Hawke to the Fade, not knowing if she would survive. Though what happened was not completely resolved in her mind, Hawke was not bitter. There were things that could not mend with words. Hawke knew it would be better to return to Kirkwall.

She walked next to Fenris as they left Skyhold, wrapping her fingers in his gauntleted hand. He gave a gentle squeeze, and she sighed with relief.

“I’d like to visit the sea.” Hawke said, and felt Fenris look at her. There was a long pause, and then he replied.

“I will go with you.”

Hawke wondered if Fenris knew how many times he had already saved her.

She had to remind herself that although she may have been swept out and lost in the current, as long as she had this, she could still swim to shore. 


End file.
